Through the Twilight
by Tiy
Summary: Tifa Lockheart is suffering serious burnout from the Midgar Recovery. Is it slowly killing her? Not if Reno has anything to say about it... Ch. 6 & 7: Conclusion and Epilogue
1. Prologue

Tifa Lockheart took a few precious seconds out of her relief time to splash some filthy water from a bucket onto her neck and face. What she really wanted was to go swimming. A salty sea breeze was always hovering in the air, reminding her of a promise made at the Gold Saucer before the Temple of the Ancients, before the black materia, before Meteor.   
  
Her head drifted down towards her chest, when she suddenly jerked and blinked to clear her eyes and mind. There wasn't time. There was never time. She let out a breathy sigh, the sigh of a person who had seen and done too much to be worried about the logistics of climbing onto a makeshift bed.   
  
In the end, she twisted her leg and rolled onto the blanket, asleep before she completely stopped. She had a private tent, an extravagance all things considered. Yuffie had been tenting there, also, but with the ninja-girl assigned to mercy runs near Sector Eight and herself leading the first shift Recovery at Sector Four, it was inconvenient and impractical. And, right now, impracticality cost lives.   
  
She hadn't seen Yuffie in over a week, and was almost glad for it.  
  
Despite scaling Gaea's cliff and watching one of their own be cut down before her eyes, Yuffie Kirasagi never, during the entire Sephiroth incident, became the Lady destiny designed. However, the suffering at the Midgar ruins - for it could be called a city no longer - brought that cold maturity to her eyes like nothing else could, and Tifa wanted to cry out for ever wishing her to change. There was no light, no warmth, no joy; there could not be after the months of hell they lived. She even heard Yuffie damning materia to the heavens for the lives it could not save, her bloodied fists pounding the dust as though daring the lifestream to try to take these souls away.  
  
Eight heroes. Eight sectors. Tifa learned early on to take relief in knowing that Sector Seven would not be searched, leaving more men for her Team. Cait Sith remained with Reeve, grim overseer of the entire Recovery and his final penance for heading Shinra's Urban Development, but the others were spread out over the city. An Avalanche was in every aspect of the Recovery, acting with a discipline borne of a lifetime of training.  
  
She had not seen Yuffie in a week, but she had not seen the others in over a month.   
  
When the lifestream began to surround Meteor, no one could be sure what would happen next. Tifa, personally, expected to see trees and flowers and a Midgar clean like it had never been in reality. There was that flash of light (...green eyes... so familiar...) and Meteor was gone, but there were no trees.  
  
And there were no flowers.  
  
Instead of the ideal city, Midgar was aflame, with plates hanging precariously over supports never meant to handle the millennia-old threat, and in the center, the Shinra Building stood as a shattered monument to an extinct empire.  
  
Her hand had gripped the railing of the Highwind hard, and the pain brought her back to the dark reality she shared with her teammates. There was no discussion - little talking, period, even from Barret - only a quiet resolve reflected in the eyes that had so recently reflected Holy's light and some short, barked orders from Cid to land near the devastation.   
  
The chaos was soon brought to some order (...who would ignore a Vincent Valentine or Cloud Strife?), which became organization and method. Hell, Reeve even had a system in place to ferry survivors and mostly recovered patients via the damaged Highwind to Nibelhiem, Mideel, and Gonzaga to rebuild those towns as well as make a database to offer the refugees some hope of reuniting with friends and family. Elena, the impetuous Turk who first offered her magic skills to the Medic tents, was proving invaluable to Reeve by running most of the computerized aspects of the Recovery.  
  
A gray sort of dawn filtered through Tifa's tent, waking her like it had every morning for nine weeks and five days. The light really might have been golden, the shining beams of a fall sunrise, but she didn't really notice (except that brighter light took longer to adjust her eyes to). It could have been purple for all she cared, which was what scared her the most. If there was ever a time for a hero to rescue her... She stretched once and stepped out of her tent, thinking again of salt-water showers and short knights with unkempt blonde hair and blue eyes.  
  
But there was no time for that. 


	2. Into the Tents

The light really was golden, which Tifa was forced to reluctantly admit when she had to squint to make out Reeve's motorcycle approaching from the east. What a contradiction that man was - the polished businessman who controlled the happy-go-lucky stuffed cat and raced towards her at a suicidal speed on his bike because he was too afraid to ride chocobos.  
  
He stopped in a controlled arc, which nevertheless kicked up a cloud of dust that left her coughing until he offered her a canteen. She took it and inclined her head his direction, an acknowledgement more than a greeting. He raised his eyebrow at that, but made no remark until she had finished.  
  
"Your PHS is out." It was her turn to feel something reminiscent of disappointment, part of her still waiting for a simple 'how are you, today?' from the people she cared most about. Or did once. It hurt too much to think about it.  
  
She wiped her mouth on with her arm. "I know. We had problems lifting a section of the plate, yesterday. Ever since Sector One, my men have gotten reckless." The Sector One discovery was the single greatest inspiration since the start of the Recovery. Red XIII's men lifted two collapsed sections of the upper plate that had fallen against each other and found over five hundred survivors crammed into the space, living off supplies from nearby stores that had also been spared. That was two weeks earlier, and the Recovery efforts were redoubled by the rescuers, who had been given something like hope again.   
  
"My PHS was the only casualty," she added as an afterthought, considering that, in a different time and place, it might have been a joke.  
  
She thought, for a moment, she saw the same flash of recognition through his own eyes, but it was crushed by business, by atonement. "Regardless, it set us back a few hours, trying to locate you. You're being reassigned."  
  
Tifa blinked several times, owlishly as she was prone to. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or faint - but since she wasn't sure she could still do any of them, she opted for the next best choice. "Huh?"  
  
"Medic Tent. Shift started twenty minutes ago, actually," he noted, looking at a watch that was once high quality.  
  
Tifa opened her mouth to speak, but paused for a moment before crossing her arms over her chest protectively, "I am one hell of a Leader." It was fact, not idle boasting. She was as strong as most of the men she commanded, as well as smaller and more flexible. Besides, she had no long lost love lying in the rubble; all of her ties to Midgar were cut when Sector Seven was destroyed. There was no indecisiveness in her. Not anymore. Her voiced lowered but did not lose its intensity, "Some guy's dick get too big for his pants?"  
  
Both eyebrows shot up at that, but again he made no remark on it. Tifa'd changed, he'd changed, but he couldn't be damned philosophical about it. He could only act; he wasn't indecisive anymore, either.  
  
"Barring Sector One, the recovery missions have been turning up less and less, while the actual injured are being treated by exhausted Medics. Exhausted physically, magically, and emotionally, Tifa. Besides, I'm getting reports that you've been a bit erratic, yourself." He watched the corners of her mouth frown deeply, while she lowered her head to watch a small, brown boot kick up clouds of dust. Relenting slightly, Reeve let his hand graze hers and shook his head fervently, "Your strength will be invaluable in the Tents and you'll set a good standard for the Medics to meet. Now, get out of here. You've got work to do."  
  
She nodded sharply and turned away, headed for the corral, where some chocobos were kept for the workers' benefit.  
  
Reeve watched her for a few moments, but realized that there wasn't time and climbed onto his bike to head off to other, similar meetings, to give similar speeches to similar people. His eyes wandered to the still retreating figure of Tifa Lockheart. He'd always held a soft spot for the garnet-eyed girl, who would use Cait as a pillow, when the ground got to be a little too much.  
  
He shook it off, roughly. There wasn't time for that.  
  
  
**********  
  
When she finally arrived, her body, perpetually sore from the physical work of a   
Recoverer, had been jostled over every rock between Midgar and Kalm, (...possible   
considering the damned bird refused to travel in a straight line...) despite her tight reign. She was tempted to turn Sunshine into her rations for the next week - another thing the Recovery was having trouble getting a steady supply of - but settled for a long string of curses as she located her Tent.  
  
The smell of the Medic Tents was unbearable for the newcomers and intolerable for those accustomed to it. There were too many wounds and not enough Medics, or treatments, to keep them clean.  
  
Tifa was experienced in the Tents, having pulled short shifts when a heavy load would arrive and did not need to be told much beyond where to cover and what materia was allocated before starting.   
  
She was a bartender, once, and the skills never left her. Mixing drinks wasn't important to a kid who hadn't made up his mind whether to live or die (...kid? he's Cloud's age...), but a pretty nurse with a shoulder to cry on could be the deciding factor between life or death. So much of healing was mental, and it didn't matter if she hadn't showered in weeks or eaten properly or really combed her hair - mirrors were even more of an extravagance than private tents - because she could still fill in for the angel they'd been missing or for the big sister or oldest daughter or whatever else these people needed.  
  
It was a skill, an act, but it was a very successful one.  
  
Cries and shouts arose shortly before the end of her shift, and while the details were fuzzy, it was apparent that a flood of injured would be arriving. Her Team - Tifa corrected herself mentally - her old Team was not the only one being reckless.  
  
She stayed on until they began arriving, the most serious by gold chocobo. Yuffie's was in the in the distance, but Tifa could not spare time to wave, she couldn't even chat with her own patients. She worked fast and gave as many as possible a chance to live until tomorrow, when they could be stitched up with better precision   
  
He recognized her first, and was cognizant enough to comment on it, "Lockheart's   
slummin' it with the Medics." A statement, not a question, delivered in a lazy drawl but it drew her attention to the red-haired Recoverer she was casting low level Cures on, while bandaging the messier wounds of the girl in the next cot.  
  
"Reno?" Her's was definitely a question, "I thought you were on your way to Wutai."  
  
He brought his hand up to his chest dramatically and gave a shaky sigh, "I'm touched that you've been scouring the newspapers for my name - "  
  
(..."I read the newspapers hoping for some word of you"...)  
  
"- collapse in Sector Six."  
  
Tifa blinked back into reality, "Sector Six?" You're out of Cloud's Team?"  
  
"Quick, Lockheart," he gave a sneer that erupted into a grimace. "The whole upper plate about fell on our heads."  
  
She gave a sage nod, remembering the eerie silence of the day before, after her own plate had collapsed and she had to determine if she would need to replace any of her Team. She also remembered Sector Seven and swinging on a wire to avoid being crushed. Her hands pulled minutely harder on a bandage at the thought. Swinging with...  
  
"...Cloud. Did he get out?"  
  
Reno started to reply, but everything blurred and then went blank altogether as he fell unconscious. She shook her head fiercely; he could easily die because she'd wasted time like that. She didn't care if it was Hojo, himself - well, maybe not Hojo, she amended with a frown - but she still couldn't let the Turk die, when so many had been lost because she was too slow, because Avalanche had been too slow.  
  
Night fell, and Tifa opted to sleep in a comparatively quiet corner rather than make the trek back to her tent. She'd worked nearly three shifts, which was completely against the rules, but she was Tifa Lockheart so no one bothered to enforce them. She welcomed the oblivion, the single most selfish thing she'd wished for during the Recovery, and wondered just how much of her wanted to collapse from exertion.  
  
The entire day she had been healing, but she kept her eyes open in an habitual awareness that had so often saved her life. Cloud Strife was never brought in. That didn't mean much - he could have been taken to a different tent or Yuffie could have gotten to him or maybe he was alright after all.   
  
"He might be dead, too," she mumbled as sleep overcame her, but the thought was gone and not accompanied by anything like the emotion it should have caused in a friend (...or a lover...). 


	3. Icy Treatment

Disclaimer: I do not, nor have at any time owned Final Fantasy VII  
  
  
  
  
Reno woke to a sight he'd often envisioned, even when he was just a smart-mouth Turk drinking the night away at the Seventh Heaven: a disheveled Tifa Lockheart massaging his bare chest.   
  
Abruptly, he felt like he was hit by some of Highwind's dynamite as the force of his injuries flooded his senses. He could have been on fire and wouldn't have known the difference. He opened his eyes again to see Lockheart's locked on his own, while her lips made a silent chant. She lowered the pain to just when it became tolerable, but not beyond. With more clarity, he could see his chest had actually been expertly bandaged and his left arm was secured in a splint.   
  
"It's awfully cold in here, Lockheart," he murmured, licking his lips slightly.  
  
She blinked, realizing he was actually awake and not making the insane ramblings of earlier that morning, and leaned over him slightly. "Reno..."  
  
He held his breath in anticipation as she edged closer to his face.  
  
"... you've got an ice-pack taped to your head." She dropped a canteen, which she had just grabbed off a corner of the cot, onto an uninjured part of his chest and backed away to examine his sprained wrist. Satisfied, she slid off the bed and moved to the next patient.  
  
Never one to be silent, especially when feeling rejected, he opened his mouth to speak, "Lockh -"  
  
"Sleep, Reno. You need rest - and not the materia induced kind, either." Her back was still to him, and he could make out some of her once white shirt beneath the tangled waves of hair. He was staring at her, and she knew it. Quickly, Tifa began some Cure spells; the girl's fever was back and it concerned her, but she also hoped the Turk would tire and give her some peace while she made her rounds.   
  
Reno's eyes narrowed when her spellcasting began, affronted that she thought he could be brushed off that easily. He was the undisciplined Turk; the indolent one, too lazy to tuck in his own shirt. He "tsked" lightly under his breath. He wasn't lazy (...at least not always...).  
  
He was patient.  
  
She stopped casting, noting some of the girl's natural color returned to her features. Tifa waited a moment to see if Reno was still awake and waiting for her to stop. She counted to herself silently and finally relaxed as she stood to go to the next bed, unobstructed.  
  
"Talkative, aren't we?"  
  
His voice, affectedly loud, sent a shock through her system, just as she was stepping from the cot. Her leg buckled underneath her and nearly sent her flying backwards into a ration cart, but her fighter's reflexes turned the rather clumsy fall into an impromptu pirouette.  
  
Reno could suppress the grin at the gymnastics occurring because of his innocent   
question, but his eyes continued to flash with a suppressed satisfaction at getting a one up on the Avalanche member. He had scars from her that little chants would never take away.  
  
But it all died when he looked into her eyes. He remembered them as carrying a radiance that seemed to light her bar, as opposed to the other way around. He expected them to hold a righteous indignation at his prank, like they did when a guy made a bad come-on. Never, though, did he think of Tifa Lockheart's eyes as holding nothing at all. They were dead, like Strife's, like Highwind's.   
  
Cid Highwind didn't even raise an eyebrow at Reno's sudden appearance and offer to help. He just sent him to Strife, who had recently lost some Recoverers and needed replacements. No fights, no blame, not even angry words towards the Shinra. Both of them - Strife and Highwind - walked every day in their own misery. And they walked it willingly.   
  
Of all of Avalanche, Lockheart was the one Reno expected would remain alive, even in the midst of this misery they called Midgar. He flinched under the ice-cold gaze when he realized how wrong he was.  
  
"Shut up or get out."  
  
She was dangerously close, and Reno tried to lighten the air.  
  
"Easy, Lockheart. I'm still hurting from yesterday."  
  
She moved lightening-quick and grabbed his hair, pulled back loosely from his face, causing him to inhale sharply, and spoke directly into his ear, "You are here by my grace, not the other way around. If you keep me from my duties again, I will kick you out, and I will make it hurt a lot worse than Sector Six just did."  
  
There was a familiarity, there, that took him a moment to place, but it soon hit him like a shotgun blast. That was the almighty Shinra Voice. It was the voice of those lower employees, working for a living in a business that centered around undercutting and greed. Everything was serious, everything was efficient, and the slightest mistake could cost them their job. Lockheart was a Shinra now. Sure, the stakes were nobler and yeah, it was for a good cause, but a soul's a soul and since when did volunteer Medics call their patients, "duties"?   
  
He used his good hand to ease her grip on his hair, slightly, and cocked his head toward her. His eyes were dark, stormy and his voice lowered to an apologetic - and what he hoped was unthreatening - whisper. "What are you?" He spoke the words slowly, almost like singing a lullaby. "A machine?"   
  
And with that, he slammed his hand down on her neck, forcing her lips to his. He was sure of very little in this new world except that Tifa Lockheart had no business selling her soul.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I realized, belatedly, that in my terror/excitement about posting, I completely forgot a disclaimer. I also realized I didn't take the time to thank all you guys who've encouraged me to do this. Soda_cola_pop gave me the final kick in the butt I needed (go read her stuff - she has a ton of potential!). Now, I've done my part so kindly drop a review in the box... it'll make you feel good. Promise. ;)  
  
Out of curiosity, does every new author check their box once an hour for reviews, or am I the only one neurotic like that? 


	4. Living Dead

Tifa had become powerful chasing Jenova to the Northern Crater and back again, and being a Recoverer added the hardened edge to her impeccable fighting skills.  
  
In short, Reno - weakened from blood loss and a fairly severe concussion - didn't have a chance.  
  
She jerked back immediately, breaking the meeting of the lips that could hardly be called a kiss, and swung her fist in a self-righteous punch that would have broken his jaw had it landed a little lower.   
  
His vision was going blurry again, and he quickly tried to swallow his pride (and the coppery blood that now filled his throat), managing to put a tight-lipped, but still smug, smirk across his face. "You hit like a girl, Lockheart. And..." He let it fade away, the words left hanging. She'd walked away from him - again!  
  
Reno wasn't worth her time, and she had known that since he was just the redheaded guy in a crumpled suit drinking lots but tipping light. He was cute once, when he'd first started walking into her bar, but that was irrelevant. As soon as her punch made its comforting thud against his jaw, Tifa'd begun to leave. He wasn't worth wasting energy over, either.  
  
She could have stayed and beat the crap out of him, not realizing that it was already too late and her shift relief had seen the end of that little drama. She was just going to find out why the third shift hadn't ended, when her superior came and ordered her outside. Immediately.  
  
Tifa knew the speech (... even given it a few times...). It was short and left no doubt that she was not welcome in the Medic tents, again, with or without serious injury. The supervisor was calculating and efficient, the marks of the Recovery, and Tifa was equally well aware that her skill as a Medic was not worth the risk of an emotionally unstable worker. She could've cared less about his opinion of her and did not bother to argue. It wouldn't have moved him, regardless. She just nodded and walked away, something that had become a habit as of late.   
  
Something in the supervisor snapped at that. He wanted a fight; he wanted to be the one in control and to have something more than responsibility for the tally sheets.   
  
"We ought to thank you, you know," his voice was tired and held little of the cruelty he hoped it would. He started to walk away, and gave a last parting shot over his shoulder,  
  
"20C is dead. 18.30 hours."  
  
20C. Her cot. Her rounds. A low moan, raised from the part of her heart she'd had to shut down to be an effective Leader, escaped her lips, and she had the irrational urge to throw something. Hard.   
  
************  
  
Reno could hear everything - the tent offered no privacy, inside or out - up until the new Medic came in to check his symptoms and cast a low-level ice spell on his jaw to keep the swelling down. The part about 20C cut through the haze of pain and had him searching around for the guy a few beds down being carried out to a nameless burial. Great... another sin for the penitent Avalanche.  
  
He stood up shakily, giving the Medic a Shinra-hardened glare. It dared him to remind Reno that he had much rather lie down and give in to the overriding exhaustion. The Medic merely turned away and shrugged inwardly. It might rain tonight, the first time during the whole Recovery, and the sheltered cot belonged to someone a little more appreciative.  
  
***********  
  
Beyond the Midgar ruins, the sun was setting, making a mockery of the division between light and dark. It twisted and deformed the shadows that were so logical during the day and non-existant at night. Her face was hidden in the shadows, lost to the red light that framed her hair, her arms, her entire being. Reno walked towards her, thinking this perhaps was not a good idea. By the time he reached her, he was sure of it.  
  
Tifa had not moved and, as usual, noted Reno's arrival without really seeing him. Her fists were clenched in the only outward sign of emotion, but giving off a sign as clearly as if she were unsteadily throwing stones in the proverbial glass house.   
  
Understanding, he thought, be understanding and supportive.  
  
"Lighten up, Lockheart." Damn.  
  
Her eyes widened, emotions playing across them as she made a move to strike, to scream, to do anything but stand there staring like a dying deer. She didn't, couldn't because...  
  
(...there's no time there's no time there's no time...)  
  
It played in her head, a mantra hard learned and true so long as Midgar remained littered with the innocent dead.  
  
Her voice came out mumbled and impatient, "I don't have time for this, Reno. I'm contacting Reeve for a new post."  
  
"Is that what they're callin' it now? And I thought you were standing there admiring the oh-so-beautiful Med Tent. Look," he took a few cautious steps closer, hands held in front of him as though to ward off another hit, "you're worn out and need rest. There's no reason -"  
  
Lightning, unconcealled lightning. "No! There's every reason. This is more than selling murder for ten gil a drink. This," she turned slightly, waving towards the ruins, "is what I fought for. All that is left is suffering and broken bits of metal. Honestly, Reno, I didn't risk my life to save the world so someone else could clean up after me. " Memories flooded her... of late nights at the Seventh Heaven scrubbing battered floors until dawn, of folding tents and packing supplies unsure of whether it would be two days to Corel or thirty.  
  
Reno watched her face, the dreamy expression of a person needing a night's rest or a triple latte, and felt that dissatisfaction rising from the back of his throat, again. Tifa's eyes hardened as reality intruded, and he nearly tripped trying to keep her from marching off to duty's call.  
  
"You're right, Lockheart, there is suffering, but it's not over at Midgar." This would be so much easier if everything would hold still, he gritted his teeth against the thought and took a casual step closer, "Honestly, the world's not worth saving if everyone's gotta be like you. Cold, empty, alone."  
  
"That's the thing, Forrester," her posture became insolent (...didn't know I knew your name, did ya...) "The planet doesn't revolve around you or me or even Cloud. Greater good. Ever hear of it?"  
  
"Sure. And I bet you told yourself that every night for weeks, whenever the pain became too hard. Every time you had to lose your humanity to make the tough decisions. Sure, I know what you're thinking every time you turn on your heel and walk away." He paused, his speech making him lightheaded. "Dammit, Lockheart. I was a Turk, the emotion-killing, tongue-biting, 'its our fuckin' job' scum of the Shinras. There is no trick on this hell-hole that I haven't pulled and the only thing I learned was that... was that..." Nothing was making sense to him now as he tried desperately to remember just what it was he learned.  
  
Tifa took the chance to interrupt, but her words were clipped and unconvincing, "Fine. Then, think about it while I leave. Time is lives, and I owe them that." She nodded her head once, as though agreeing with herself, and turned away towards Midgar, head held high aware that he was watching.  
  
"Time is for living," he called after her, confident he'd won, but angry regardless.  
  
"...Tifa."  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: It was after writing this chapter the first time that I finally decided I am terrible at dialogue - so bear with me while I practice. ;) It's better than it used to be. Promise!  
  
Three chapters and an epilogue left, I think, and the next two go together as soon as I get around to posting them. :) 


	5. Understanding

Cloud was alive. She had pushed her thoughts of him down to the place the rest of her concerns were sent to, not forgotten but most certainly not remembered.  
  
It started as her simply escaping Reno's impertinent (... are they ever anything else...) presumptions but turned into an Avalanche reunion of sorts, except that reunions are supposed to be happy and none of them cared much for happiness anymore. There were, however, waves and even words reminiscent of the days aboard the Tiny Bronco.  
  
Reeve ordered this meeting outside Sector Six, calling together his most capable Leaders. The collapse did more than send a redheaded Turk to the infirmary; it gave the Recovery the first clear route to the Shinra Building.  
  
"Survivors?" Tifa asked; she wasn't called to the meeting but they were not going to kick her out, either. Old loyalties.   
  
"We don't know." Cloud replied, while Reeve gave urgent orders into his PHS. "No one's gone in, yet. Reeve wants this well-planned out, in case..." He shrugged in conclusion.  
  
Tifa waited a full beat before leaning forward and asking impatiently, "In case, what?" No Leader ever left sentences hanging like that.  
  
"In case Hojo's pets escaped." Tifa let out a little cry of surprise (...twice in one day...) as she turned abruptly to face Vincent, who had moved directly behind her.   
  
"And I would rather not have my men join the killed tally," Reeve rejoined the   
conversation, while trying to slip the PHS into his jacket pocket. "Avalanche, as a team, is still more than capable of handling his creations. If there are any. The upper floors of the Office, in particular, were hit hard by Diamond Weapon and Meteor, making it possible the entire lab was blown away." His PHS rang again just as it finally slipped into the worn jacket, and he turned and answered it, no apology needed.  
  
"I'm going with you." Tifa would brook no opposition.  
  
They gave none. "Then," Reeve continued, again pocketing his phone, "Let's go."  
  
(... "Move out!"...)  
  
  
  
The group made a night march to the Shinra building, and the rain started when the dawn light should have been reflecting off the tower. It was a northerly storm; the rains which had been a drizzle over Junon built into towering clouds over the mountains. It made for uncomfortable travel as well as even more uncomfortable decisions.  
  
Common sense said they should turn around. It was cold. It was wet. It was dark. They were tired. Not good combinations in any circumstances. Carelessness, which had been prevailing of late, flourished in such conditions - not to mention the simple mistakes that could occur in unfamiliar and, perhaps, unstable territory.  
  
For the first time in nine weeks and six days, common sense lost out.  
  
Cloud's Team entered the Shinra building directly at the main entrance. Once inside, they were to split up - half searching the main floors for survivors and half going into the basement to see if there was any hope of using temporary generators to power the building.  
  
Tifa waited patiently for Red and Vincent to join her. Reeve reluctantly agreed to send them up the side entrance to see if there was any possibility of establishing a helipad on the upper floors. They had tried at the beginning of the Recovery, but no one could get close enough to clear the debris, and the heliplane was soon moved elsewhere to help carry critical survivors to the Medic tents.   
  
  
  
It was noisy. That was the first thing Tifa noticed as she ran up the flights of stairs, the complete fusion of sounds. Wind and thunder intertwined with their footsteps echoing off the shattered walls and the everpresent sound of rain drumming against the outside.   
  
She opted to take up the rear, preferring Vincent's red cloak floating inches in front of her face rather than worrying about slowing up the two behind her - not that she would, but the thought was more than she wanted to deal with, right then.   
  
Red, at any rate, set a good pace and a rhythm established itself. Left. Right. Left. Turn the corner. Jump over debris. Right. Left. Duck under a collapse. Ri -  
  
Tifa's vision turned blood red as she slammed into Vincent's back, and she nearly sent him flying over Red into the fissure that now existed where some of the stairs should have been.  
  
It appeared Meteor had taken a fairly significant chunk out of the stairway at this point, which left the team with a slight obstruction: a seven foot jump up to the other half of the stairs or a twenty foot drop to the lower level.   
  
Leaning over the railing, Tifa could see the last four or five sets of stairs separating them from the main Building. Red and Vincent stood off to the side observing so Tifa slipped back a few steps and took off at a full sprint, ready to make the jump. A gold claw snaked around her arm, clamping it tightly and pulling her back from the edge. She rubbed her now strained arm and glared up at her tall partner.   
  
"Wait."  
  
Red turned his good eye towards Tifa and gruffly clarified, "The fissure runs a good length through the supports for this stairway. The hole," he directed his head down, "was just the starting point."  
  
"But, this all has stood since Meteor, why now?"  
  
The rain was pouring down on her through the gap, cascading down her face as she asked the question. Her eyes widened as the answer hit her,  
  
"The storm! This is no go, guys, pull out." Tifa whipped out her PHS to warn Cloud's Team. They could feel it then, tremors only a few minutes ago they would have ignored as result of the violent winds outside.  
  
(...damndamndamn...) Tifa slammed the handset shut, "Up! Quickly!" She sailed   
across the opening, feeling the ledge crumble away as the other two landed and   
scrambled up on all fours, water dripping into her eyes and blurring her vision. Her breathing and the sound of her Team pounding against the steps was all she heard (...was willing to hear...). Tifa swore that if she survived she'd quit and swim in that damned salt water.  
  
The door came in sight, but Tifa wondered if they would reach the final ledge only to have the entire Building fall away beneath them. Vincent crashed through the door, the sound echoing through the deserted hallways of the Shinra Building, where the tremors and storm seemed distant and unreal. The team watched with exhausted horror as the stairway, a recent addition to the Office, crumbled under the dark storm.   
  
Tifa, for one, couldn't hear above her own breathing and choked out between ragged gasps, "Heli-pad. Top. Floor." The others nodded their agreement, but only began to slowly examine their surroundings. Tifa interpreted the action as a show of pity. She squared her shoulders, Leader stride coming back in full force, and led the way to the stairway, stepping over the bodies of guards, who were once unwilling to leave (...or ordered to stay...) despite everything. Their deaths were anything but peaceful; faces contorted into mixtures of horror and surprise, and the blood was everywhere, stark against the white floors, the white faces.   
  
"Guys," Tifa's voice cracked but the sound of it still made the others start slightly before she turned to face them, "something's wrong."   
  
She saw the wave of frustration pass across Vincent's usually impenetrable face and felt instantly ashamed of her own reluctance, likely borne from the same weakness that had her removed as Leader.  
  
Vincent stopped just short of speaking, and the three team members stood, a triangle in the middle of an empty hallway, and listened. The storm was not nearly so loud, here, but water was dripping on the floors above, pattering against the ceiling. Red sniffed the air once, and finally spoke hesitantly, "I... think you're right -"  
  
All three whipped their heads to the side, as an angry roar erupted from the hall they'd just left. And, then, all hell broke loose.  
  
Eyes aflame with their own brand of hellfire, ghoulish beasts flooded the previously deserted halls; their voices the piercing shrieks of wraiths and banshees.  
  
Her Team was trapped in a graveyard, sixty floors aboveground.  
  
Red, the mind-numbing shock almost immediately overcome, sprinted towards the Office stairs with Tifa on his heels and Vincent covering her from behind. Her PHS was in hand as she screamed into the receiver, begging for directions or help that was impossible to get. Vincent's Death Penalty rang out through the hallway, but scored few hits as they again flew up stairways, feeling the cold breath around them, always. The ghosts came from anywhere, through anything, and Red's eyes were filled with his own blood.   
  
Tifa cast a light cure on instinct before realizing her Medic band was still equipped from her earlier encounter with Reno. Vincent and Red noticed, also, and their tactics changed from killing ghosts to sheltering the girl between them. Their one hope for survival was on the wrist of the tiny ex-Leader of Sector Four. She cast healing magic on anything that came too close, her voice chanting a continuous strain to try to compete with the onslaught.   
  
Exhaustion was kicking in, and Tifa skidded around a staircase, slamming her shoulder painfully into the wall. She threw Vincent the handset, which provided enough of a distraction to allow one of the phantoms to tear a thin gash down her back before she could turn and destroy it. Near limping and in agony, she   
tried to distance herself from the pain and reality of their situation. Vincent's voice hummed in the background as he worked to get help from the main team, pausing to fire random shots that were barely effectual.   
  
A door flew apart, flattening Red against the wall. The lion-like creature released a deep growl and fought through the beings with a fury mixed with desperation. Tifa bolted through the open passage and saw a chance as she crossed the lobby beneath the President's former office. Red and Vincent were at her heels, or so she thought until she was sent flying forward onto the staircase railing. A ghostly spear hovered above her and was near imbedded in her chest before it exploded in a flash of light. Vincent was feverishly flinging potions released from Red's broken pack to clear the phantoms   
encircling Tifa.  
  
"Red and I," Vincent spoke - not shouting, but so intensely that he did not need to - as he pulled Tifa to her feet and half dragged her up the steps, "will clear a landing. You must cover us."   
  
There was no room for argument as they reached the President's office, or what was left of it. The balcony was gone completely, and entire sections of the room had caved in or fallen off, leaving no room to catch a heliplane.   
  
Tifa turned at the top of the stairs and began casting at anything that came up after them. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes glazing over - all symptoms of materia exhaustion, which she had been so careless about yesterday and was now praying didn't kill her and her friends -   
  
She felt the chill before it sent her flying across the room and nearly out a gaping window. The ghost-demon was massive, a monster straight out of Hojo's dreams, and it meant to kill her and anything else that disturbed its penance on Earth. Of that, Tifa was certain.   
  
A cure spell fell incoherently from her lips as she raised her head to look Death on as it approached slowly, laboriously to give her the keys to that sweet oblivion. Her hand brushed something, cold and metallic as she tried to shakily stand. She stared down dumbly at a pocket watch (...it was expensive once...) and a hand partially exposed beneath the rubble, which could only belong to the young Shinra President.  
  
The face of the watch was shattered, and the hands a frozen monument to a moment in time. She traced the timepiece with a finger and, for a second, wanted that to be the last feeling of her existence. Clarity. Nostalgia.  
  
Understanding.  
  
(... he was... blue eyes, so strong... calling out... to me.)  
  
Eyes wide, Tifa felt time and reality intrude again, her mind frantically working on a last ditch escape, driven from a sudden, desperate need to survive. Her body, though, resisted the thought of trying to cast a draining but impossibly inaccurate life spell.  
  
(... 'Time is for living'...)  
  
The demon shoved aside the desk, with a horrific noise sure to bring Vincent and Red, though likely too late, and destroyed Tifa's only shelter and her last bid for time.   
  
(...Tifa...)  
  
The answer was obvious (... kill bad guy, save friends...) and Tifa hesitated only long enough to draw herself to a sitting position before summoning. In the event of a supernatural enemy cast Cure, if all else fails -  
  
Cast Fire.  
  
Phoenix burst forth before her hands; the powerful healing materia worthless in the Medic tents was kept around just in case there was a way to harness it. Nothing could be more impossible, though, harnessing the creature of light and flame, a testament to rebirth.   
  
Tifa, hair fanning behind her, eyes glowing an ember-red, looked like a fallen angel to Vincent and Red, who were at last ready to get her on the waiting heliplane. A beautiful, tragic angel kneeling triumphant before an evil fading into the darkness.   
  
The fire died and Phoenix returned to the world it was called from, but Tifa remained kneeling. Her blazing eyes were merely reflections off a glazed, empty stare, with shadows around them that threatened to envelop her entire face, and her body shuddered under the aftereffects of casting. Vincent nearly made it to Tifa's side before she collapsed, breathing shallow and skin taking its own ghostly shade. He fumbled with the clasp on her Medic band, aware that Red was shouting, that he could barely see straight from blood loss, and that the flesh on the back of his neck was rising from a sudden chill.  
  
He turned sharply, blasting everything nearby with white magic, while his good hand, slick with sweat, barely rested inside the armor. In a fluid movement, Vincent picked up the comatose girl and ran furiously towards their makeshift boarding area. Red could no longer wait and took the jump onto the hazardously close chopper. Vincent did not pause; it was as though he was still running though the floor was no longer beneath him. His tarnished claw grabbed hold of a rung on the ladder and so he dangled, more worried about chanting spells for Tifa than climbing as the rain sprayed his face and the wind whipped what was left of his cloak into the dark night.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: And this is how it all started. I had this idea for a Recovery and a graveyard Shinra Building for a long time and this scene was how I began. Originally, it was my solution to the age-old questions: "How do I resurrect Rufus Shinra?" and then "How do I pair him up with Tifa?" Next thing I knew, I was writing a dark Tifa/Reno (mostly Tifa). *shrug* Who'd have thought? :) I almost deleted the scene and reworked the ending, but in the end, I was   
selfish and decided I wanted it to stay.  
  
I know, I know it's been five months. I actually had two people remind me of that within a few days of each other. I thought it was a sign. (Thanks guys, I didn't e-mail you but I was completely dumbfounded by the reviews after so long). Someone thought it was cute to take my disk, with this story and some other documents, and put a magnet to it and I didn't have the patience to rewrite it. However, I also owe soda_cola_pop an ending since she's the other reason I started writing. Go find her works and leave some nice reviews. You'll be grateful - she's an amazing girl. :)  
  
So, yes, TtT is _finished_ and I'll probably be posting the final two chapters this week before I go back to school ~ Tiy 


	6. Storms

The autumn storm proved to be the calling card of winter, and with the rains came a biting cold and an end of the Recovery's ideal days.  
  
Reno finally settled onto the floor of his tent, one hand draped over his eyes, with his last cigarette clasped between his fingers. Reeve had even fewer blankets than he did rations for the Recovery, but what Reno needed to warm him up was not going to be found on this half of the continent - not that he could afford a shot of anything, anyway.   
  
The tent flap slid open and Reno brought his hand up in an informal wave. When he got no reply, he popped an eye open and was surprised to see, not the stooped, square-shouldered silhouette of either of the guys he was tenting with, but an hourglass figure highlighted by the waxing moon behind it.  
  
He was standing in an instant, red hair loose and flying around his face. She was supposed to be dead or in a coma or something, but not wandering around the Recovery in freezing weather. Reno started to invite her in, but Tifa stopped him with a gesture, her lips shaking with the attempt to stay warm.  
  
"You said that I was dead, that I needed to be living."  
  
He moved closer, "Tifa, I -"  
  
Her voice rose to a frantic pitch, while she spoke with the wild eyes of a girl lost in a lightning storm, "I thought, you know, I thought that it would be alright. Avalanche would make it all right. Midgar, Meteor... it was our fault, wasn't it? Wasn't it?" She screamed out the question as tears began to flow down her face, "After everything we'd suffered, why wasn't it enough? I thought 'Keep helping, it'll make everything alright'. But it didn't. The hurt never went away. I don't want to hurt anymore. I want it to go away. Reno, does it go away?"  
  
Shaking and sobbing, she fell into his arms and he held her, held her through most of the night. Maybe she was delusional or maybe just tired, but Reno couldn't shake the pleasure of being a pillar of strength for somebody. Especially someone he... liked so much. It'd been too long since that'd happened.  
  
Her words were incoherant, insane mutterings of light and life and that dead flower girl. Reno began to worry for her mental state; that mission must have pushed her over the edge. Damn it, it wasn't supposed to be this way!  
  
He laid her on his cot, and Reno made a whispered, moonlight promise to stand by her, no matter what. And then he fell asleep, waking to an empty bed and a bright sun overhead.  
  
Tifa left at dawn, having had enough sleep in the past few weeks to last her a lifetime. She remembered everything of the night before - waking up alone in a Med tent and walking like a woman possessed to find Reno, driven by an intense need (...guilt...) to apologize. Near-death does that to people. The emotional dumping just kinda happened. It was Reno's words that pulled her through that last battle and in her semi-dazed state, he was the most likely person to help her. (... some role model I picked...) He was a survivor. Her materia exhaustion was fatally severe, but she survived. It made Tifa think she had reserves of strength that she hadn't even begun to tap, and if she continued her life as a Recoverer, she would commit suicide before she ever did.  
  
So when Tifa walked into Reeve's tent and saw Cloud was there, also, she was only mildly daunted. It had taken four months to make up her mind, and she was pretty damn sure.   
  
"I'm resigning my post within the Recovery. I hope..." Tifa was even about to wish them luck on rebuilding Midgar, when Cloud jumped up and grabbed her arm, his faint cry of "No!" still ringing in the air. She did not have time to recover as Reeve latched on to her left arm and spun her towards him. Her neck, reeling from the whiplash, burned while her entire body froze in shock.  
  
"Who the hell do you think you are, walking away like you hadn't a care in the world?" Reeve was pissed beyond moderation, "I cannot keep you here, but if you thought I was going to support your decision, then you were sadly mistaken. I will never condone such a selfish and irresponsible action - "  
  
Cloud interrupted, spinning her to fully face him, "This is a team Recovery, Lockheart. Avalanche does not abandon its duty -"  
  
"How will you live, knowing that your absence may have let even one person die?"  
  
"Or don't you care that your friends will now have to pick up your slack?"  
  
"I know you had a tough time of it in the Building, but at least you aren't sitting in a metal prison, waiting for a person, who just left it all behind, to rescue you -"  
  
"Toughen up, Lockheart. How the hell did you survive fighting Sephiroth?"  
  
"You can't just pretend this didn't happen - "   
  
"Aeris never would've walked away."  
  
Tifa, dizzy and more than a little frightened, felt like she had been kicked in the gut and could only stare up at Cloud in horror when he finally finished. Had she really been trying to live up to the flower girl, all this time? No wonder she always felt incomplete.  
  
"What's my problem?" Tifa's voice was soft, and she kept her eyes lowered. Her arms were red and bruised, but turning around and walking away was not an option, "What's your problem? You know full well that workers come and go every day, and you could give a damn 'cept that it screws with your rosters. Why not me?" She glared up at both men, an angry flush coloring her face. "Avalanche is a joke. We're nothing but a bunch of washed up hacks, who used to be heroes. I'm greedy? How dare you spout your holier than thou crap, when all you're doing here is trying to forget that we were too slow."  
  
She ripped her arm out of Cloud's grasp and went nose to nose with Reeve, "Yeah,   
maybe you could've joined our side sooner and saved us some grief, but get over   
yourself. This isn't about you or your guilt. There isn't anyone left!" Her cry rang through the tent. A shimmering line of tears blurred her vision, "It's been two months - two months since Red's Sector One rescue. It's over. Get someone less emotionally involved to run the Recovery. You'll be dead by the time you're forty, Reeve."  
  
Not missing a beat, she was in Cloud's face, "And you! Big, bad leader of Avalanche. Some friend you've been. Do you even know me anymore? Has all of this been worth it? No, Aeris wouldn't have walked away. She would've had our bags packed with nine tickets on a train to Costa del Sol, months ago. Give her some credit; she would've seen how stupid this is."  
  
Cloud's face turned a remarkable shade of purple, while Reeve's voice sounded in the tent as his PHS once again claimed his attention. For her part, Tifa was breathing hard and deeply, trying to shake the lingering effects of materia exhaustion.  
  
And so Reno walked in, the last traces of sleep still evident in his eyes, "Tifa, I didn't wake up..." His statement faded away, replaced by a fairly sheepish grin as he noticed Cloud's infuriated expression and Reeve's stormy eyes, "You're doin' okay, right?"  
  
She cradled her head in her hands and took a deep breath, trying to restore her patience, as she replied, "Yes, I'm fine, Reno, thank you. You're forgiven." Cloud was still looking at her, even as she removed her hands to link them behind her back. Enough of this...  
  
Cloud reached out a hand to her, not coming close enough to touch her, though, "Teef..." Her eyes met his at the name. He looked young, again, and innocent. His eyes were so blue that she could almost see her reflection in them.  
  
"Are you going leave me, too?"  
  
Sick. She wanted to throw-up all over that self-composed, self-centered façade, "Flash her some puppy dog eyes and she'll do anything. Was that in your Soldier handbook?" Cloud's face instantly returned to its stony, Leader-esque expression, the traces of that innocent boy completely erased. His closed fists shook with fury.   
  
She spun on her heel, leaving a mark in the dirt, and crashed into Reno, who was more than willing to catch her. She reached up, absently, and brushed a strand of hair away from his face, "I mean it, Reno, thank you."  
  
He couldn't help but grin down at her, the rest of the tent completely forgotten, "So you're finally free. Any plans?"  
  
She flashed an enigmatic smile, "Yes."  
  
"Do they include a fun-loving, ex-Turk?"  
  
"...No."  
  
He felt all the air run from his body, leaving him gasping, begging for breath.  
  
"I'm free, Reno. You said it yourself. I've always relied on other people - mom, Cloud, even you - and that's what caused this mess for me in the first place. If I'd only been stronger..." She trailed off, only to continue in a steadier voice, "Now, it's time for me to try. See if I can do any better."  
  
She raised herself up, and gave him an unreturned embrace before brushing through the tent into the cool, autumn day. 


	7. Epilogue

Sunlight shimmered off a crystal sea, the warm waves sending water far inland. Winter in Costa del Sol could hardly be called worse than a temperate spring and tourists flocked to the resort town.   
  
However, up the coast, on a small peninsula of land that served as an ideal breeding ground for chocobo, a new tenant built a house. There were monsters, of course, but Costa del Sol was willing to pay a great deal for an exterminator.   
  
A paycheck safely in her pocket, Tifa stretched out on the sand and watched the sunset over her new home. The weather was balmy, and the flames of the three candles she'd brought leaned only slightly inland. By the candles rested a picture of her and Aeris at the Gold Saucer, shortly before being tossed into the desert penal colony. They were standing in line for the Speed Coaster, where a man offered to photograph them. Tifa nearly broke into tears glancing at the face of her friend, who had been gone for a year. An anniversary...  
  
The picture brought back so many memories, and after a brief hesitation, Tifa stood in the sand, carefully removing her shirt and skirt.   
  
("Tifa, do you love him?")  
  
She didn't neglect her boots or socks, either.  
  
("It's okay, you know. He's not playing fair.")  
  
She cut her hair in an early act of rebellion and was now praying every day that it would grow back.  
  
("We have ourselves and each other, right? Friends forever. Promise me, Teef...")  
  
The water was cooler up north, and she could feel the goosebumps rising on her legs and arms, even as she pressed further into the dark sea.  
  
("...Promise me, and when this is all over, we'll go swimming - just like we planned at Costa. Nothing but you and me, the salt water... and some cute guys. We'll wash all this behind us.")  
  
She could float in the water and took the opportunity to do so, while the last rays of the sunset sank into the horizon.  
  
(... I promise.)  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: A final thank you to my kind reviewers (though I'm not sure how kind y'all will be now that I dumped Reno) and all you authors better get back to your authoring business. I've completed a story - I'm now _qualified_ to review all your works. :) Good night! 


End file.
